Starlight and Silver
by Annie Wright
Summary: "You deserve so much, Mon, more than anyone can give you. But this is a start." I place my hand on her face and look her right in the eyes. "I'm just a cop paradin' around as a Fed, I'm not much for flowery language or hearts an' flowers, but I do love yo


Title: Starlight and Silver  
Author: Annie Wright (AnnieW177@aol.com)  
Rating: PG  
Category: unabashed, shameless, unforgiving DRR, post-ep  
Spoilers: "Release", "Sunshine Days" (kinda)  
Summary: "You deserve so much, Mon, more than anyone can give you. But this is a start." I place my hand on her face and look her right in the eyes. "I'm just a cop paradin' around as a Fed, I'm not much for flowery language or hearts an' flowers, but I do love you. An' it's not much, but it's the best I can do."  
Disclaimer: Not mine. No profit. Don't sue. (Sorry kids, a ten hour workday kinda sucks the haiku right outta ya.)  
  
Authors notes at the end.  
  
  
  
  
The traffic is unusually light for a Tuesday afternoon, especially for the city. Next to me, my ex-wife sits, looking out the window. She looks different-older, maybe.   
"You okay?" I ask.  
"As well as can be expected, I suppose," she replies. "And you?"  
"Same."  
I make my way around Columbus Circle and into the unloading zone in front of Union Station, and make a move to get out.   
Barbara stops me with an arm on my hand. "When will you be coming up?"  
"I dunno. When would you like to do it?"  
"Is Thursday okay with you?"   
I nod.  
"Why don't you ask Monica to come with you." It's more of a statement than a question, and I turn to look at her, puzzled.   
"I, uh, wasn't sure you'd want here to be there, considering..."  
To my surprise, Barbara smiles. "John, that was a long time ago. We were separated, hurting...she's a nice woman, John. Smart, kind-and I think she's good for you. It's obviously she cares for you."  
I can feel the tips of my ears turn red with embarrassment.  
"Look, I know you're afraid. But you can't live like this forever. I know you, John Doggett...I know you're worried about everything-you can't protect her, can't promise you won't hurt her, can't promise you won't let her down. But trust me when I say this: Monica doesn't want any of those things. She just wants you."  
"How do you know?"  
"Woman's intuition." She leans over and kisses my cheek, and I get a whiff of her familiar perfume. "Don't get out, I can handle it. I'll see you Thursday."  
She opens the truck door and grabs her small suitcase, shutting the door behind her solidly. She gives one last wave before I watch her disappear into Union Station.  
  
  
  
  
  
I feel like a dumbass.  
I've been standing here for-20 minutes now-trying to get up the courage to go up and knock on her door. But I can't. It's been a rough week, and it's about to get rougher. All I want to do is go home, crack open a beer, and watch bad tv until I fall asleep.  
But I can't.  
I have to laugh to myself...even now, my ex-wife can read me like a book. I can hear her voice in my head, clear as day. 'Go on, John, just do it. She's not gonna say no.'   
It was surreal, talking to Barb today. She sounded relieved, like a weight's been lifted off her shoulders. I know I feel relieved, but I can't help the small twinge of sadness that's been stuck in my gut since this whole fiasco began. But her askin' me-well, tellin' me really-to bring Monica with me was the icing on the cake. I knew she'd forgiven me long ago, but I never knew she knew it was Monica...maybe this woman's intuition stuff Monica and Scully are always on about isn't as big a load of bullshit as I thought.  
"You going to stand outside all night, or are you planning on coming up?"  
I look up and see Monica standing there, leaning out her window with a big smile on her face.   
"How long you been watchin'?"   
"Just a few minutes. You okay?"  
"Yeah."  
"Well? You coming up, or do I have to come down?"  
Now I really feel like a dumbass. "No, I'll come up."  
The two flights of stairs to her apartment have never felt so long. By the time I get to her floor she's standing there with the door open, leaning against the doorjamb and sucking on a cherry popsicle.  
"Hey." Great conversationalist I am.   
"What's up?" She ushers me inside and sits on the end of the couch, tucking her feet up under her.   
"I, uh...I'm leavin' for New York tomorrow."  
She nods. "I figured." She takes a bite of her popsicle, making a silly slurping noise as she does so. A thin red line dribbles its way down her chin and she licks it up with her tongue, like a cat. "So you'll be back Monday?"  
"I want you to come with me." I'm nervous, the words come out too fast. But she understands apparently, because the look on her face is what I can only describe as...well, I don't know.  
"Are you sure?"  
Hell yeah, I'm sure. It seems fairly logical to me, my feelings for Monica aside-she was the one that found him, it was Monica that broke the news to Barbara."Yeah."  
She nods. "Okay."  
"I'll, uh, I'll get us a hotel room and all."   
She finishes off her popsicle with a flourish and lays the stick gingerly in an ashtray before getting up and walking over to me.   
"I...I'm very sorry, John." Her big hazel eyes are filled with tears, and I find myself choking up. Her hand finds mine, and she gives it a squeeze.   
I squeeze back. "Thanks."  
  
  
  
  
It was late when we got to New York, the skyline alight with skyscrapers. Monica stared out the window as we headed for the Lincoln Tunnel, playing with one of her big, silver rings. She'd slipped a tape into the tape deck back outside Perth Amboy, and she'd been singing on and off since then, if the mood struck her. The tape was a Billy Joel mix, and she sang softly along with him to 'New York State of Mind'.   
I never knew Monica could sing.  
We finally reach the Lincoln Tunnel, and she hands me a wad of bills. "You paid the turnpike toll...I'll get this one."  
I know I should probably talk to her, say something, but I just don't have the words.   
She seems to understand, though. She always does. It's comfortable, being with her; she never forces conversation, never pushes an issue. She's comfortable with silence, at ease in her own skin.   
By the time we get to the hotel, it's late and we're both tired. I find a parking garage near the hotel, and she unloads the SUV while I pay the attendant.  
"Can I carry your bag?" I ask her.  
Her smile is sunny, as always. "Nope, I'm fine."  
The hotel room is nice-two big beds, a sitting room, a large bathroom. She chooses the bed on the left and begins to unpack, and I do the same.  
"Can I go ahead and use the bathroom first?" she asks.  
"Yeah, go ahead."  
I hear running water, and I go through her nightly routine in my head as I undress and climb into my bed: teeth brushed, then face, then a quick floss. She'd had it down to a science ten years ago, and sure enough she emerges in under ten minutes, clad in a black satin nightgown.  
I hear her walking around, unmaking the bed, turning off lights. By the time she gets to the lamp on the far side of my bed, I'm watching her walk around in the darkness, scared and curious. She goes to turn my lamp off and I stop her, my hand on her wrist.  
Her eyes are dark, questioning. "What is it?"  
I pull her over to me and she sits on the bed, her hand entwining with mine. "Stay with me tonight."  
She makes a move to say something, but decides against it. Instead she crawls into bed with me, wrapping herself around me like she did so many years ago, holding me as I mourn.  
"Talk to me, John," she whispers, her breath warm on the back of my neck. "Tell me."  
I turn around in her arms, facing her. "You've heard it all."  
She smiles as she wipes my tears away. "I want to hear it again. Turn off the light and tell me."  
So I do.  
  
  
  
  
It was windy on the beach, but a beautiful, clear day. I stood next to the car, waiting for Barbara. Monica stood next to me, her hand in mine.  
Barbara's car pulled up, and Monica pulled her hand out of mine. I reached out and took it again, and she gave me this look, like I was mad.  
"John. Monica."  
"Hello, Barbara." Monica's voice was shaky, and I can't recall ever having seen her less at ease.   
"Glad you could come." Barb smiles warmly at Monica, and I squeeze Monica's hand.   
"Thank you for letting me."  
Barbara turned to me. "You ready?"  
"Ready as I'll ever be." We walked down the beach to the shore, letting the waves lap at our feet. She handed me the small box that contained Luke's ashes, and with a last glance at her, I open the box and release his ashes into the wind.  
I turn to Barbara and hand her the box. She takes it, then smiles. "She's a sweet girl, John. Don't let her get away."  
I make back up to the car, my shoes wet and sandy. Monica is leaning up against the car, fidgeting. She looked up and saw me, and as I approached she stood up straight, waiting for me.  
Her eyes held so much-love, sorrow, compassion. I could see her eyes were damp, and it broke my heart over again, to know this good-hearted woman could feel so much. All I can think of to do is hold her, so that's what I do: gather her up in my arms and hold tight to her, as though she is my anchor.  
When I let her go she smiles at me. "I'll buy you lunch."  
"Nope, it's my treat." I push her hair out of her face. "Let's go back to the city."  
  
  
  
  
Lunch was at a nice, out of the way restaurant not far off Rockefeller Center. After we ate, Monica insisted on walking around-"John, neither of us ever come to New York for fun. Come on." -taking my arm companionably as we walked around.  
"I love this city," she says, her steps perfectly in time with mine. "I loved being here. I was so excited when they assigned me to New York. I always kind of assumed rookie agents got assigned to like...oh, I don't know, Fargo." She shoots me a silly smile.   
"Not too much ritualistic killin' goin' on in Fargo," I reply, and she chuckles.   
"True. I always loved New York, though. We used to come in college."  
"From Providence?"  
"Sure. We'd come down for a weekend, get a hotel room, go out dancing and drinking. You know, that wild, swinging single life." She falls silent for a moment, and I can all but see the wheels in her head turning. "When you were first married...I was..." She trails off, laughing.  
"What?"  
Her smile is big and bright, full of mischief. "I was nineteen."  
"You're a liar."  
"I am not!" She pokes me in the side with her elbow. "You were married in, what, 1988? I didn't graduate from college until 1990."   
"Are you callin' me an old man?"  
"Maybe."   
We stroll down Fifth Avenue, peering into shop windows and making small talk. Monica smiles sunnily at every passerby, and more than one man turns to watch her walk away. She comes to a complete stop only once, at the windows of Tiffany's.  
"I love these windows," she says, standing so close to them that her breath leaves condensation on them. "They always do them up so creatively." She points to a huge diamond. "Look at the size of that rock. Who can afford that?"  
"Certainly not an FBI agent."  
"No kidding." She moves to the next window, peering in at the silver baubles. "These are nice."  
The centerpiece is a silver necklace with a heart charm-simple and elegant. Something I can see Monica wearing. Beside me she sighs softly.  
"What?"  
She shrugs. "Just a little wishful thinking on my part." She smiles up at me. "Every girl wants something from Tiffany's, but few of us ever get it." She tugs on my arm. "Come on, I wanna go to FAO Schwarz...my niece has a birthday coming up."  
  
  
  
"How many Barbies can there be?" I ask, turning around. In every direction, all I see is pink-pink boxes, pink cars, pink houses. It's like I'm trapped in Pepto-Bismol hell. "And what's with this color?"  
Monica laughs. "There is a reason it's called 'Barbie pink', John." She holds up two boxes. "Which one?"  
"Is there a difference between 'em?"  
"This," she says, holding up the box in her left hand, "is Malibu Barbie. The other is Birthday Princess Barbie."  
"And?"  
She sighs and shakes her head, turning back to the shelves. "Never mind."  
I watch her for a few moments, and suddenly I'm struck with the urge to kiss her. She's so thoughtful and so considerate, gives so freely of herself. Monica is selfless, totally and completely, and I wonder why she continues to give and give of herself when its never reciprocated. I feel guilty-she's done more for me than for anyone. Why have I never been thoughtful enough to do something in return?   
"Mon?"  
"Hmm?" She looks over.  
"I'm gonna go hit the men's room. Don't go anywhere without me, okay? I'll never get out alive without you."  
She laughs. "I'll be here."  
I wend my way through the store, searching for daylight. When I finally find my way outside, I head back down to Tiffany's.  
I feel slightly out of place-everyone else looks like they belong here. I wander around, looking in all the cases, my heart pounding in my chest. I've never done anything this impetuous before, and certainly not this expensive.  
"Can I help you?" The salesgirl is young, pretty, and blonde, with a big smile not unlike Monica's.   
"Yeah...uh, in the window there's a necklace. Silver, with a heart."  
"Would you like to see it?"  
"Yeah, that'd be great."  
I follow her to another counter, where she takes an identical necklace out and places it on a dark blue mat. "It's sterling silver on an 16 inch chain. It's probably our most popular item."  
"How much?"  
"One hundred fifty."  
I don't even hesitate. "I'll take it."  
The salesgirl smiles. "Great." She slides a pen and a small card across the counter. "If you'd like to include a message, here's a card."  
I hand her my credit card and she bustles off, leaving me alone with the card. What am I gonna say? Nothing seems to fit. 'Thank you' isn't enough, but how can I say what I feel without sounding stupid?  
"May I offer a suggestion?" The salesgirl's smile is knowing.  
"Do I look that clueless?" I laugh.  
"Lots of men come in here to buy gifts for their wives or girlfriends and have no clue what to say on a card." She leans forward and studies me. "Wife or girlfriend?"  
"Well...neither. She's, uh, well...she's a very good friend."  
She nods knowingly. "Gotcha. How long have you known her?"  
"Ten years."  
"Wow. Okay...just write what you feel, even if you think it sounds stupid or whatever because trust me, she won't care. She'll love it just because it's from you." I must have looked hesitant because she smiled. "Trust me. I do this for a living."  
I pause for a moment and then write.  
'There are no words to express what you mean to me.'  
It's not poetry, but it'll do. I hand the girl the card and she puts it in the small blue box, placing a small, blue felt bag on top of it. She puts the top on and ties it with a white ribbon, smiling the whole while. "Here you go, Mr. Doggett. Did you want a bag?"  
"No, thanks," I say, putting the box in my coat pocket. "Thanks for your help."  
"No problem."  
I turn to walk away, but for some reason I turn around. "What's your name?"  
"Monica. Why?"  
I laugh. "That's uh...that's her name, too."  
"Your non-girlfriend."  
"Yeah."  
"I got news for you."  
"Yeah? What's that?"  
"You give her that, she's your girlfriend." She smiles. "She's lucky to have you."  
I shake my head. "No...it's me who's lucky."  
  
  
  
"What, did you fall in?" Monica laughs at me as I approach her. "I was ready to send out a SWAT team."  
"They had these NASCAR models...I kinda got sidetracked. No Barbie?"  
"She's got a million of them. I figure I'll get her a book or something...I dunno. Something useful, educational."  
We walk out the front entrance and onto Fifth Avenue, back downtown towards our hotel. Again Monica stops by the windows at Tiffany's, gazing into them.   
"I feel like Holly Golightly," she says, chuckling. "Did you see that movie?"  
"What movie?"  
"Breakfast at Tiffany's. Audrey Hepburn is a young woman who's a bit odd...and she loves looking in the windows at Tiffany's."  
"I think I slept through that one."  
She nudges me playfully with her arm, still looking at the windows. I feel a poke in my arm and I turn, seeing the young salesgirl from the store standing on my other side.   
"That her?" she mouths, pointing at Monica.  
I nod.  
She winks, grinning, and gives me a thumbs-up before walking down 57th Street and disappearing into a crowd.   
  
  
  
We find a nice little restaurant, have a bottle of decent wine with our very good chicken parmesan, laugh more than I have in years. By the end of dinner, I was feeling human for the first time in years.   
We walk back to hotel in companionable silence, her arm tucked into mine. She's smiling, her face flushed from the wine, her hair blowing in the breeze...she looks so lovely, so sweet that I want to take her and kiss her right there on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 34th Street.   
She turns to me with a grin. "I know this is going to sound bad, but I had the most fun tonight. Best date in years." Her eyes widen and she slaps her hand over her mouth. "I so didn't mean that! I meant I had a nice time but I didn't mean it was a date...I mean it was a date but it wasn't a date date...I think I should just shut up now." She bites her lip anxiously, looking embarrassed.  
She looks so cute that I have to laugh, and then she laughs too. We stand there laughing like fools, and suddenly I'm kissing her at the corner of Fifth Avenue and 34th Street, kissing her like my life depends on it, like we are the only two people in the world.  
"Let's go to the top," she says breathlessly to me, pulling back ever so slightly. I must look confused because she laughs. "The Empire State Building." She gestures to it with her head, and I look up at it.   
"Sure, why not?"  
The wait is surprisingly short, only half an hour, and thirty-five minutes later we're standing on top of the world, looking down on Manhattan. Above us the stars twinkle in the midnight sky like a picture on a postcard, so close I feel like I could reach out and grab one.   
"It's so beautiful up here," Monica says, lacing her fingers through the metal grating around the edge as she looks out on the city, the wind whipping through her hair. She turns to me. "I remember the first time I was up here. I was twelve, on a family vacation. I was afraid to go up so high but once I was up here, I never wanted to leave."  
I don't know what possesses me, but I put my hand in my coat pocket and pull out the Tiffany's box. "Here."  
She looks at it, then at me, then back to it, almost like she can't believe what's happening. "What?"  
"I...I know it's not much, but, well, I thought you'd like it."  
She takes the box from me and with a smile, pulls the ribbon off and opens the box. She lifts the tiny bag out and pulls the card out, reading it with a smile, and then hands the box to me while she opens the tiny blue bag and pours the contents out into her hand.   
"Oh, John," she says quietly, a shy smile on her face. "It's beautiful. Just what I would have chosen."  
I take it from her and fasten it around her neck, and she turns to me with an almost nervous smile. "Well?"  
It sparkles on her neck, glinting in the starlight. "It...it looks like it was made for you."  
She tucks the box back in my pocket, one hand fingering the necklace with the other. "Thank you."  
"No, thank you."  
"For what?"  
"For everything...for comin' up here with me, for bein' there, for bein' my friend. Don't you know how much you've done for me? This necklace-this is nothin' compared to what you've done for me." Her eyes sparkle like stars in the dim light, and her smile is almost tearful. "Do you not know? Do you have any clue?"  
"I guess not."  
"You're so damn selfless, Mon. Why?"  
She shrugs, laughing and crying simultaneously. "I don't know."  
I pull her to me, holding her so tightly I'm afraid she'll break. "You deserve so much, Mon, more than anyone can give you. But this is a start." I place my hand on her face and look her right in the eyes. "I'm just a cop paradin' around as a Fed, I'm not much for flowery language or hearts an' flowers, but I do love you. An' it's not much, but it's the best I can do."  
Tears stream down her face as she smiles. "That's all I ever wanted, John."  
Her kiss is salty with her tears, and when she hugs me it's both fierce and tender at the same time. "I don't need hearts and flowers, John. All I need is you. You're all I've ever needed."  
The wind blows a piece of her hair into her face, and I gently tuck it behind her ear. "You ready to go?"  
She shakes her head and turns around in my arms, laying her head on my shoulder. "Not yet. I just want to stay here and remember this."  
That's all I want, too.  
  
  
  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
Did anyone else notice that silver necklace in "Sunshine Days"? I was wondering where she might have gotten it (duh!) and so wrote a fic about it. It seems entirely plausible to me that John gave it to her-it's not something you'd give a friend, it's something you'd get from your parents or a significant other. And it's not terribly like Monica to wear a necklace; after all, we've never seen her wear one before. Anyhoo, that's just my two cents.   
  
And, as always, feedback is always appreciated at AnnieW177@aol.com Thanks to all the people who do send feedback-it keeps me going! 


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